


when the world’s come and gone shall we follow our transgressions?

by retweet_this



Category: Crooked Media RPF, The Fourth Estate RPF
Genre: Apocalyptic Themes, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 13:03:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/pseuds/retweet_this
Summary: It almost feels poetic that his car should stop just outside of Omaha.





	when the world’s come and gone shall we follow our transgressions?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyRosePotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosePotter/gifts).



It almost feels poetic that his car should stop just outside of Omaha. It’s still technically Nebraska but it’s just about as close to Iowa as one can get without actually being in Iowa and fuck if that isn’t a metaphor for his entire life right now.

He pops open the hood and tries to see if he can recognize what’s wrong. Not the gas, he distinctly remembers filling it up this morning – unless there’s a leak? He squats down quick to check – okay, no leak. Fuck, what if it’s the battery? Does he even know how to fix a car battery? Aw shit, aw fuck.

Tommy takes a deep breath. Okay, he’s maybe a couple hour’s walk away from the nearest town. Maybe there’s a mechanic there that can come out and check his car out and get it fixed before sundown. Maybe a driver of one of the millions of cars heading west might catch him out of the corner of their eye and take pity on him and help him out.

Or, maybe, the sun will go down and he’ll be fucked, and he’ll never even have gotten to Iowa.

His fingers grip the hood and stands there a few moments, trying to debate his options, and he must’ve been incredibly zoned out because it took more than a few honks for him to look over at the car pulled up beside him.

“Car trouble?” the driver asks.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix cars, would you?” Tommy asks sheepishly.

The driver shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “No, but I can get you to the next town over, if you need.”

“I do need.” Tommy slaps down the hood and dusts off his hands. He shoves some things into his backpack and throws it into the backseat as he climbs in the passenger’s side.

“Thank you, so much.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Tommy.”

“Mike.” He doesn’t take Tommy’s hand, just starts up the car and drives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mike literally does not say a word to him during the whole ride – not that Tommy necessarily minds, considering that Mike was the one going out on a limb and stopping for a pasty white guy pulled over on the side of the street heading east. What kind of guy would do that unless he was insane or an idiot?

And maybe he himself should feel a little apprehensive about getting into a car with a stranger also heading east but there’s something familiar about him, something Tommy can’t quite place yet, but he doesn’t feel any sense of danger around him. That and the guy is driving a Volvo station wagon so, really, how dangerous could he be?

So, they drive in complete silence all the way up until they pull into the parking lot of a rundown looking mechanic’s shop and Tommy clears his throat. “Could you hang around for a bit? In case, you know, they’re not...”

“Yeah, I got you,” Mike nods. He shuts off the car and pulls a book out of seemingly nowhere. The book looks a little familiar too, like it’s something Tommy might’ve read ages ago. Then again, everything feels like ages ago compared to now.

Mike’s still reading when Tommy returns, and it’s almost funny the way he startles when Tommy knocks on the window to get his attention, his glasses askew over his widening eyes. He opens the door but doesn’t get out. “No luck?”

Tommy leans against the side of the car and shakes his head. “No luck. Their guy left a week ago. They’re just clearing stuff out.”

Mike presses his lips together, quiet for a few moments. “Where you headed?” he finally asks.

“Quarantine zone,” Tommy says, like it’s just a quick trip upstate. Maybe he can ask Mike to get him up to Des Moines, at the very, then try hitching rides or looking for some used car lot to –

“I can get you there. I’m headed there myself.” Tommy hopes he’s not stupidly gaping (he definitely is) as Mike closes the car door. A few moments pass and he opens the door again. “That was your cue to get back in the car.”

“Oh, right.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“We really didn’t need to go back for my clothes,” Tommy says, for what is certainly the hundredth time.

Mike shrugs. “It’s fine, you had snacks.” As if to prove his point, he reaches into the bag set precariously between his legs and crunches down on a handful of trail mix.

They could’ve covered a lot more ground, though, had they not had to make a series of complicated illegal U-turns to try and get back to where the car was. Lucky that highway patrol wasn’t around – but, also, considering the circumstances, not exactly lucky.

The sky fills with shades of pink and purple as they pass through Des Moines. Tommy clears his throat as he looks out the window. “It’s kind of eerie, isn’t it? How everything starts to get quiet around sundown?”

There’s no response, and he wonders he’s being ignored, but then Mike changes lanes. “We should find a place to stay.”

Practical. Now that’s something that’s been missing in Tommy’s life for quite some time. He pushes down the vague smile pulling at his lips and keeps looking outside.

It’s a nice-looking motel that they pull into, better than some of the other ones Tommy stayed at, and a tired man greets them at the front desk.

“We’d like two rooms, please,” Mike says, dropping his bag on the floor. He doesn’t look any more tired than a few hours ago – which is to say that he looks perpetually sort of tired. Not necessarily inspiring in a driver but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Preferably close to each other,” Tommy quickly adds.

Mike looks at him and Tommy does his best impression of a humble look, thankfully spared by the front-deskman handing them two keys. “These are the only two singles we have left, sorry.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Mike pulls a wad of cash out of his wallet before picking his bag back up and turning to Tommy. “Meet me here at six-thirty or so. We’ll grab breakfast somewhere and then head out.” He doesn’t even wait for a reply, just walks away and toward, presumably, his own room.

“Okay,” Tommy says to the empty air.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breakfast is surprisingly unquiet around them. Before, Tommy mostly settled for grabbing whatever he could get at convenience stores and vending machines, Snicker bar dinners and coffee breakfasts in tiny hotel rooms. He didn’t even realize how hungry he was for _real_ food until they sat down.

If his travel companion noticed how loud his stomach was growling, he didn’t show it. A waitress poured them coffee and said she’d be back to take their food orders soon, and since then Mike hasn’t spoken a word to him aside from “Pass the creamer, please.”

Tommy feels his legs shake under the table, anxiety manifesting itself physically, and the silence between them quickly becomes unbearable.

“So, I have a confession to make,” he says, abruptly.

Mike looks up from his coffee and blinks.

“I know you’re Mike Schmidt from the New York Times.”

Whatever little anticipation there was in Mike’s eyes deflates right there. “Okay,” he says, and looks back down at his coffee.

Despite himself, Tommy deflates. Sure, he didn’t expect Mike to get upset or, you know, recognize him in turn, but he would’ve liked a little more conversation than that. He clears his throat and tries again. “So, uh, where are you headed? Is it for work or something?”

Mike makes a vague noise and nothing more. Tommy sighs and stares down at his own coffee. Oh, great, now the one and only person he’d made acquaintances with and could have conversations with hates him. Great, just fucking –

“Tommy.” Mike took his glasses off, and now Tommy can look right into his tired brown eyes. There’s still some crust on the edges of his lashes. “Tommy,” he says again. “It’s really early in the morning, and we haven’t even put in our food orders yet.”

Oh. Oh! “Oh,” Tommy shoves his hand into his pockets and pulls out a spare pack of trail mix. “Do you want –”

The words barely leave his mouth before Mike snatches it out of his hands and tears into the packaging. He mumbles out a thank you through a half-full mouth and Tommy has to smile.

Okay. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he thought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’ve crossed the Illinois border, sun high in the sky and the road effectively empty around them. The windows were down, wind blowing all around them, and Tommy’s pretty sure he’s gonna lull himself to sleep any second now.

Maybe he could ask Mike to switch off once they cross Indiana. Mike had shown him the route he’d plotted through Google Maps – drive straight through to Columbus, stay in the area for the night, get through the Pittsburg checkpoint in the morning and then right down to DC.

He’s almost too wrapped up in his own thoughts and the sound of the wind to notice it at first, but then he hears it. A low humming, from Mike, of a _very_ familiar theme song. It’s a good thing Tommy’s not driving because he’s pretty sure he would’ve slammed on the brakes just then.

He settles for sitting up in his seat and pointing semi-accusatorily. “You!” he huffs. “You know me!”

“I never said I didn’t.” Mike looks over at him, corners of his mouth lifting. “Tommy Vietor, former National Security Council spokesman…” he pauses, likely for dramatic effect, “and podcast host.”

Tommy smirks. “I didn’t know the national security desk of the New York Times was listening to Pod Save the World.”

“Oh, I knew of you before then. Had a couple of friends who’d dealt with you while you were at the White House.”

“Did they, now?” Tommy hums, head resting on his hand, arm against the windowsill. “I’m sure they only said nice things.”

“Oh, you know,” Mike trails off for a moment, then smirks, “I heard all about that beer pong – I’m sorry, _flip cup_ game.”

For what feels like the first time in ages, Tommy throws his head back and laughs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun’s on its slow way down when Tommy takes the wheel. The air’s a little chillier, Mike sits with his jacket on but leaves the windows down just for that breeze. His glasses rest on the neck of his shirt and he just stares out into the distance.

Tommy takes a deep breath and tries again. “So, is this for work for something else?”

Mike turns his head, blinking like he’s been jostled out of sleep. “Is what?”

“Going to the quarantine zone,” Tommy continues. “Is it something for the Times? Like a unique story angle?”

“…Not exactly,” Mike finally responds, after a long silence.

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he does it. “I’m going for personal reasons,” he says, slowly. “A friend. _My_ friend. I’m, um, I’m trying to find a friend of mine.”

“Oh,” Mike says. A short pause. “That’s… I am too. I have a friend and I’m… I have a friend, too.”

“What a coincidence.” At this point, Tommy’s pretty sure there’s enough awkward tension between them to last the rest of the trip and he clears his throat, taking a hand off the wheel to pull his phone out. “Hey, uh, do you have an AUX cable or Bluetooth or something to connect my phone with? Maybe we could listen to some music.”

Mike nods, popping open the glove compartment and messing around with a few wires before grabbing Tommy’s phone from his outstretched hand. “What do you want me to put on?”

“Just scroll through and see what you like.”

There’s a long, thoughtful silence as Mike holds the phone up to his face, lips pressed together, looking through Tommy’s music library. Something tickles in the back of Tommy’s head, something familiar, and he shakes his head and stares down at the road.

It takes a few more moments before Mike speaks up. “You, uh, got a lot of Jason Isbell songs on here.”

“Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s my favorite artist.” He holds back a frown. “Do you not like him?”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh, fuck, are you serious? Okay, put on ‘Hope the High Road’ first, and then we’ll work our way through his discography.” He shakes his head. “By the end of this trip, I swear you’re gonna know the lyrics to all my favorite songs by him.”

“Oh joy,” Mike deadpans, but out the corner of his eye, Tommy swears he sees the faintest hint of a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They should’ve realized something was off when they saw even the suburbs of Columbus bustling with activity, so close to sundown, but it’s not until they’re at their third hotel lobby trying to get rooms that they find out.

“Sorry boys, but we’ve only got one single left,” the woman says, looking sympathetic. “Will that be all right?”

Mike shrugs and turns to Tommy. “Fine with me if it’s fine with you.”

“Yeah, we’ll take it.” As he fishes for his wallet, Tommy takes a short look around the surprisingly crowded area. “Is there like a festival or something going on?”

“Oh, haven’t you two heard?” At both their confused expressions, she explains. “It’s spread. They’ve closed off all of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, and they’re evacuating parts along the border here already.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Tommy hits his hand on the desk and grits his teeth, wiping his face and trying to stay calm.

Mike bites his lip and leans over to her. “Are there still checkpoints to get into the quarantine zone? We were in California, we’re inoculated.”

Tommy doesn’t have much time to linger on that little tidbit of information as the woman reaches under her desk and pulls out a copy of – ha, the New York Times. “It’s all in here.”

Mike grabs the paper and steps to the side, eyes skimming through, face scrunched in concentration. He has a very expressive face. Tommy isn’t quite sure what to do with his information, so he just hands over the money for the room and walks over.

“Tell me there’s still a way.”

Mike lowers the paper. “What’s the wi-fi password?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The clock is on Mike’s side of the bed, so Tommy has no idea what time it is. He could, maybe, grab his phone from the floor and check, but that probably wouldn’t be a good idea if he wants to fall asleep anytime soon. The windows are closed but a small amount of moonlight peaks through.

Maybe Mike is awake. He debates it, then slowly shifts, to find Mike lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Tommy says, quietly.

“Hey,” Mike replies.

There’s a silence. Tommy breaks it again. “You, uh, you never mentioned you were coming in from California.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I wasn’t there when… I was in Palm Beach with the President, when…” He trails off, but Tommy can fill in the blanks himself. Mike clears his throat. “Back at the diner, when you told me you had a confession, I thought you were about to tell me you were planning on killing the President or something.”

Tommy lets out a light chuckle. “Yeah, I can see something like that.”

He can barely see the outline of Mike’s smile, but it fades away with his next breath and then, he says, “Mark – my friend, Mark – he… he got his family out, he got his wife and son out, he got other reporters out. But he stayed behind because he…” He lets out another long sigh. “It should’ve been me there, but I couldn’t get back to DC, so he stayed. And now it doesn’t matter what it takes, I have to get him out of there.”

He lets out another breath for good measure, and Tommy sees the way his chest rises and falls with it.

“I got into a fight with my friend Lovett the day he went to New York,” he says, quietly. “I mean, we get into fights a lot – and it’s not like they’re _real_ fights, it’s just us sort of… it’s out thing. And I knew that it wouldn’t matter because we’re friends and that’s what friends do, and…” He takes a moment to breathe. “The last thing I said to him was a dumb fucking joke about his boyfriend because I was –” the words get caught in his throat and he talks around it “– and I didn’t want that to be the last thing I said to him.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. Mike shifts to his side and looks at him, eyes barely visible. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“Almost a decade together,” Tommy nods. He has to clear his throat again to keep the hoarseness out. “Yours is married, though.”

“Yeah, with kids, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got you beat.”

Tommy laughs first, then Mike, and then Tommy has a hand on his cheek to move him closer and kiss him. Mike shifts a little closer, hands on Tommy’s jaw, trying to adjust their faces. It’s messy, probably because they’re both still sore from the drive and were trying to fall asleep just a few minutes ago. If he angles just right, he can taste hints of the trail mix from earlier.

It feels extremely reminiscent of a high school sleepover or something, talking about each other’s crushes and then making out in bed because they haven’t been close to anyone in a long time. Or maybe that’s just him. Tommy rolls over and Mike moves on top of him, settling between his legs and pulling down his pajama bottoms.

“Let me guess,” Mike says, looking from Tommy’s underwear to Tommy’s face. “MeUndies?”

Tommy leans his head back against the pillows and groans. “I liked it better when you didn’t want to talk to me.” Then Mike presses his lips just above his shoulder and his hand grips his dick through the underwear and Tommy stops talking.

So it’s been a really long time. Screw him. No, please, screw him, his dick is aching, and Mike is still teasing and all he can think about is Lovett’s face when he –

He grabs Mike’s face and kisses him again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Traffic is awful the next morning, as though literally everyone in the state is out there on the road with them, deciding that they too wanted to head south at this particular moment in time because why the fuck not?

They keep the windows up and Tommy puts the AC at full blast. He put on a jacket today because, well... He put on a jacket today.

They could go the entire trip without speaking to each other ever again, beyond the occasional “Where do you want lunch?” or “Do you know which exit we have to take?”, and neither of them would necessarily mind that.

Except Tommy does kind of mind that because if he just sits around in a car for the next few days with nothing but his own thoughts for company - again - he’s gonna fucking lose it.

He turns down the volume of ‘Elephant’ and turns to Mike. “Lovett and I were roommates.”

Mike looks over at him, leaned back in his seat with his head resting against his palm. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, before, finally, “You mean like the vine?”

Tommy huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, exactly like the vine.”

“Did he have the dog back then?”

“No, Pundit came after he moved to LA.” He turns his head out the window for a moment. The cars are all stalled around him. “Speaking of LA, this traffic is making me homesick.” He hears Mike chuckle before he continues. “It was nice living with Lovett. I got to go to work and see him, and then I got to come home and see him again. And though we weren’t, you know, just the two of us all the time, it was… it was nice to have that sometimes.”

Mike nods slowly, adjusting the steering wheel as they inch a few feet forward. “Like a few months after I joined the nat sec team in DC, Mark invited me to his book party and introduced me to his wife and son.”

“You do realize that this isn’t a competition to see who’s got it worse, right?”

“I know,” Mike says. “I just want to make sure you know that if we did, I’d win.” He chuckles again when Tommy rolls his eyes, before his eyes suddenly light up. One of his hands reaches down the side of his door and then he’s throwing a book in Tommy’s direction. “In case you wanna take a break from misery porn.”

Tommy reads the cover. The War of the Knife by Mark Mazzetti. He looks back to Mike with a raised brow, and swears he sees him flush.

“It’s a good read,” he insists.

“I’ll bet,” Tommy hums. There’s an inscription in the inside cover, just under the dedication, and he makes sure not to read that part. Some things should be kept sacred.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Around the outskirts of Louisville, just before their planned stop, they spot a still-lit sign for a liquor store.

“We shouldn’t,” Tommy says.

“We really shouldn’t,” Mike agrees. And when they inevitably pull over in the parking lot, he pulls out his wallet. “Don’t get anything cheap.”

“Oh, if you’re paying, Mr. Two-Pulitzers, then I think we can splurge on the good stuff.” Tommy winks, leaving Mike to roll his eyes alone in the car until he returns.

They drink in the hotel room, pouring the bottle out into the paper cups by the somewhat battered coffee machine. Somehow, they managed to spring two beds this time, even though the taboo has already been broken so really what’s the point of holding up appearances now?

Mike sits across from him and kicks off his shoes, wiggling his toes a little. He grabs his bag off the side and rummages around through his clothes. “Fuck, I’m running out of clothes. Think they got a laundromat nearby?”

“We can check in the morning,” Tommy offers. He watches Mike pulls out his sleeping clothes, frowning thoughtfully. “Need anything right now?”

“Well I guess I could sleep in my underwear because, you know,” he gestures in the space between the two beds. “A spare shirt would be nice.”

Tommy reaches with his foot for the strap of his bag, picking it up off the floor and throwing Mike the first shirt he sees.

“Oh, thanks.” Mike shoves it under his arm, along with the rest of his bathroom stuff, and he claps Tommy on the arm as he walks by. Tommy’s skin tingles a little under his shirt and he shrugs it off to the drink – which, you know, he should probably get a refill right about now.

He’s on his third glass when he hears the bathroom door open again. Mike steps out, hair still a little damp from the shower and dripping slightly on his shirt. Tommy’s shirt. Tommy’s Friend of the Pod shirt.

It’s a little loose on Mike, definitely looks like something to wear to sleep and not just around town, but something seems to click in Tommy’s brain when he sees it. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol talking again.

He’s definitely staring because Mike’s brow furrows and his face scrunches in that confused way as he asks, “Is, uh, something wrong?”

“No,” Tommy says, slowly. He sets his empty cup on the table and before Mike can say anything, he’s already pressing him against the wall and kissing him.

Mike is, understandably, frozen at first. After all, this is the second night in a row an effective stranger has started kissing him in a hotel room. But he softens after a moment, a hand on the back of Tommy’s head and pulling him a little closer. His stubble’s grown out a little, this time, and Tommy can feel the barest hint scratch against his cheeks as he kisses down his jaw.

He gets down on his knees, pulling Mike’s underwear (decidedly neither Tommy John nor MeUndies) with him. Mike lets out a bit of an awkward laugh, “Oh, come on, Tommy, I just took a shower –” but then Tommy’s lips are on his dick and his words die in his throat.

In all fairness, it’s been quite some time since Tommy had sucked someone off, but lucky for him, it feels like it’s been a while since Mike’s been sucked off in return. There’s a lot of precome, more than Tommy’s used to, but he doesn’t mind it because it makes him feel like he’s doing an extra-good job. A real morale booster is exactly what he needs right now.

Mike’s hand curls in his hair, short nails scratching against his scalp, and Tommy can hear his breath in tune with his heartbeat. He takes a deep breath and pulls him down a little further.

“Oh, fuck,” Mike breathes out. If Tommy closes his eyes, he can forget where he is, he can imagine he’s somewhere else, he can imagine it’s –

There’s a sharp tug on his hair as warning and even with his eyes closed and thoughts miles away, Tommy’s pretty sure he hears Mike call out Mark’s name when he comes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You know,” Tommy says, fiddling with his fork between his fingers, “it’s kind of comforting being here.”

Mike swallows a bite of his food and raises a brow. “We’re a couple hundred miles from the quarantine zone and the place is deserted. We’re literally the only ones here.”

“Yeah, sure, but, you know,” Tommy gestures vaguely around, “life goes on. People are still working. People are still doing things. Life goes on.”

After some considering chews, Mike finally nods. “I guess you got a point,” he concedes. “I mean, is it really an apocalypse unless they’ve closed Waffle House?”

“Exactly.”

They share a smile, nice and friendly, and then Tommy leans forward to wipe some of the syrup off the corner of Mike’s mouth. If he minds, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even give him a weird look as he goes back to eating.

Tommy waits until he’s not looking to stick his finger in his mouth. It tastes sweet.

Mike’s still wearing his shirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They make their last planned convenience stop outside of Charlotte, just a bit before sunset. Goosebumps go up Tommy’s skin as he looks around the deserted streets, the empty plazas, signs of life deserted.

Mike zips up his hoodie and adjusts his baseball cap, shivering a little as they step out of the car and into the cool air outside.

“You all right?” Tommy asks, a little concerned.

“Fine,” Mike replies. He keeps his hands in his pockets until they’re inside. The cashier, an older man, gives them a vague nod as they peruse. Tommy grabs a bag of trail mix and a couple of bottles of water, as Mike fills his basket with a bunch of chocolate-based products.

“Oh shit,” he says, suddenly, heading over to the fridge section and pulling out a twelve-pack of. Of Diet Coke. “ _And_ they aren’t expired yet.” He grins, then falters a little. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” _That’s Lovett’s favorite drink_ , he should probably say, but he doesn’t. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The cashier sets down his newspaper as they come to his station, scanning their items with the usual amount of disinterest. And then, apropos nothing, he pulls out a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting these too, then?” he asks.

Mike looks at Tommy and Tommy looks at Mike and neither of them say anything as the items are scanned. They pay for them in silence and they head back to their car in silence.

It’s not until they’re on the highway again that Tommy find the energy to speak. “So, um, at the shop.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, short and curt.

“The guy, he, uh.”

“Yup.”

“But we’re – not.”

“No. Well – not with each other.”

“No, no, not with each other.”

“Nope.”

And then the next thing Tommy knows, the car’s pulled up on the side of the road, he’s naked from the waist down, and Mike has at least two fingers shoved inside of him.

“Fucking hell, Tom,” Mike says, out of breath even though he hasn’t even _done_ anything yet, “are you sure you’ve done this before?”

Tommy rolls his eyes, stifling a laugh. “It’s been a while, okay?” He shakes his head. “Just – can you move your fingers again?” Mike obliges, and he lets out a broken sort of moan. Fuck he hopes he doesn’t stain the seats.

“You ready?” Mike asks. He waits for him to nod and then – oh, fuck, and then, _and then_ –

It’s been a very long time and sucking him off the night before certainly did not prepare him for this. How it was gonna feel. Mike’s hands are on his hips and he feels him lean down as he pulls back, lips on the nape of his neck, teeth scraping against the skin.

Tommy grits his teeth. He lets out a long breath. He whines. “Please.” The first time it comes out normal (as normal as it can get), but then Mike gets into a rhythm and he’s getting right in there and oh fuck please, fuck, please, _please –_

There’s definitely a bruise somewhere on his neck when he finally feels Mike’s movements slow, but then a flurry of moment as he’s pressed on his back and oh, yes, Mike is a very good kisser, he is very good at kissing Tommy and his hands are very good at gripping Tommy’s dick and Tommy moans into his mouth when he comes all over himself and –

Mike gets out of the car first, closing the door behind him. He gets in on the driver’s side a few minutes later and pointedly stares straight ahead. Tommy zips up his pants and makes his way to the passenger’s side.

There’s a brief silence. Mike clears his throat. “So, um, I guess we should go find a hotel first and then maybe food?”

“Yeah,” Tommy nods. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first thing they notice, as they near the Virginia border, are the clouds. A thick and heavy layer of greyish-green obscuring the entire sky, the sunlight just barely penetrating through. The air is thicker, too, Tommy can tell just by the way they’re driving through it that there’s something in it that’s not supposed to be there.

There’s only a single car ahead of them at the gate, and they wait for it to pass through before pulling up to the turnstile. An officer knocks on their window and gives a polite grimace when they lower it. “Papers, please.”

Tommy opens the glove compartment and passes the papers over. For one long, gut-wrenching moment, he considers every terrible possibility – that the officer will realize his papers are fakes, that Mike’s papers are fake, that neither of them are allowed to go in, that somehow they know who they’re looking for and it’ll turn out that Mark and Lovett are –

The officer hands back the papers. “Follow all road signs toward Richmond. Do not, under any circumstances, veer off the road. Do not, under any circumstances, open your windows or exit your car. If your car stops or runs out of gas, remain inside until one of our men can come and retrieve you. Once you get into Richmond, officers there should be able to guide you to your next destination.”

“Okay,” Tommy says.

“Thank you,” Mike says. He pulls up the window.

It’s not until the gate is far in the rearview that Tommy feels comfortable breathing again. Mike spares a glance at him and he meets his gaze. “I faked my papers,” he admits.

“Oh.” Mike doesn’t say anything else. His gaze goes back to the road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tommy’s been to Virginia before, and he knows he’s in Virginia right now, but based on his surroundings, he might as well be on fucking Mars. Highway lights keep the road lit up ahead of them, but the unnatural darkness around them…

“It’s unnatural, right?” he asks. “This whole – thing? I mean, it’s not exactly of the earth, is it?”

Mike shrugs. “I haven’t done much research on it. I, uh, didn’t really want to know much about it, you know?”

“Is it in case Mark was… you know…” Tommy trails off awkwardly.

“Yeah.” Mike’s hands grip the steering wheel a little harder, knuckles pale. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Smart,” Tommy says, and the moment it comes out of his mouth, he wishes he’d said something else. He clears his throat. “Oh, hey, it’s, uh, the car that was ahead of us earlier.”

“Seems so.” His tone is curt enough that Tommy can take the hint, and they sit in silence, following signs toward Richmond.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The second-level parking is practically empty, just two other cars, not including theirs and the one belonging to the guy they all but tailgated once they were in the city limits. They park on opposite ends to avoid any interaction.

“So we just head downstairs and they’ll just take us where we need to go?” Tommy asks. He pops open the trunk and pulls out his backpack, tossing Mike his own bag.

“Yeah, I think so,” he nods. He’s got a jacket over his hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets and breath coming out in spurts of white smoke. He must be freezing. His eyes dart past Tommy for a second, narrowing, face scrunching up in confusion. “Is – is that a dog?”

Tommy whips around, trying to find whatever Mike was looking at, but all he sees is the swinging close of a door in the far distance, the sound echoing to meet them.

“I guess I missed it,” he frowns.

“Hey,” Mike nudges his arm with his own, “I’m sure there will be plenty of dogs in New York.” He smiles back when Tommy does, and they make their way to the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay,” Ms. Grady, identified by her nameplate, starts, “you two are here for an extraction?”

“Yeah,” Tommy nods. “Well – two extractions. I’m here for one and he’s here for another. We just… carpooled.”

Mike shrugs. “What he said.”

“All right, we’ll start with you,” she gestures over at Tommy. “Person’s name?”

“Jon Lovett.” Tommy can feel his heart pounding in his chest, waiting with bated breath, as Grady types in some things and the printer starts to buzz.

“All right,” she says. “His last check-in was two days ago at Mount Sinai. We’ve got a group headed in that area at oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow. Roger downstairs can help you get ready.” She smiles expectantly at him and it takes him a moment to realize he’s being dismissed.

“Oh, um, thank you,” he says, grabbing his bag off the floor and quietly shuffling out of the room. He doesn’t head downstairs quite then, though.

He should. By all accounts, he should be rushing downstairs to Roger or whomever and getting himself checked in or whatever and getting that much closer to finding Lovett and... and...

He waits a few more minutes, then Mike comes out, a piece of folded paper in his hands and a determined look on his face that falters when he sees Tommy still out there. “Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Tommy replies.

“I, um... I’m supposed to go down the hall and see Stephanie.”

Oh. “Oh.” He clears his throat and shifts on his feet. “Oh, so um... so this is it, then, huh?”

“Yeah, I... I guess it is,” Mike nods, slowly, punctuating it with a sigh. “I guess we’ll find each other after then, huh?”

“You’re still my ride home,” Tommy chuckles.

Mike does too. He shakes his head, then looks him right in the eye. “Hey, I - I know he has a boyfriend, but when you find him, you should tell Lovett how you feel.”

“I think I will,” Tommy says. “I... I think it’s long overdue.”

“Yeah.” The corners of Mike’s mouth lift and for a second, Tommy thinks something is going to happen. But Mike just raises and lowers his hand in a meek sort of wave and turns away.

Tommy waits a second, then another, then turns to find the stairs downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> rejected titles:  
> "you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him"  
> "you’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but you remind him of his missing boyfriend"  
> "nothing good starts in a getaway car"  
> "getaway_car_by_taylor_swift.mp3"  
> "broke: miro; extra broke: mito"  
> "yea they fucked 3 nights in a row"


End file.
